


Truce

by Antigone_Sycamore



Series: I who dreamed wildly and madly [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x4, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, One Shot, POV Jaime Lannister, Season 8, Slow Burn, mostly burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18829522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Sycamore/pseuds/Antigone_Sycamore
Summary: What are you doing?I'm taking your shirt off.





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> despite it all, dedicated to my favorite 3 minutes of television of all times. I loved the Jaime/Brienne love scene in 8x4. All of it. I thought it was funny and bittersweet and it did both of their characters right. Even if everything else didn't. I really loved it.

> When the knell rung for the dying  
>  soundeth for me  
>  and my corpse coldly is lying  
>  neath the green tree  
>  E.G.W.&N. 

It is infuriating. _Infuriating._

The constant cold and the snow. Fighting dead things in the dark of the night. The black stone walls of Winterfell reeking of rotting wood and burning flesh. He hates the fucking wildling and the dragon queen and her soaring beasts. He hates it all from the bottom of his old and corrupted heart. All of it. He has no idea how Tyrion could have stand it for so long.

Jaime _hates_ the fucking North. 

Except maybe for one thing. 

It is mostly frustration that propels him into motion when the fucking wilding moves to follow her. It is something entirely different that sets him into motion when _he_ moves to follow her under the watchful eyes of a room full of Northerners. The Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth. No one could’ve made this up.

Jaime doesn’t care anymore. Let them all see. Let them all mock. Let them all rejoice in the grotesque circumstances that brought together the man without honor and the women without beauty. He doesn’t care. Because for all of his many vices, loving Brienne might have been the one pure thing he’s done in his life. _It has to be._ No more a choice than the love for his sister. _We don’t choose who we love_ , he’s told his daughter once. And he’s told Brienne once. An absolution for his many transgressions. It stands no less true now. 

Expect Brienne _of course_ pretends to be oblivious to it all. Always the loyal and dutiful knight. Even after all of this. The bruises on her face, dark and purple in the gleaming light of the fire, an echo of the dread and the terror they have endured. And yet her reservations towards him have not ceased one bit. Jaime has no trouble believing that she should be the last maid in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It makes him want to leave his own marks on her body. 

He can’t help but to think of his sister and his unborn child when he knocks on her door. The wine and the fleeting high of their unexpected victory making his mind go astray. It might be his greatest betrayal yet. But Jaime has always been weak when it comes to love. He’s always been selfish when it comes to love. 

The look of mild shock mixed with something he can’t quite pinpoint tells him that she hasn’t expected him. Not even now. Tyrion certainly knows. And Podrick. In fact, he’s made his intentions quite clear to all of Winterfell at this point. He’s knighted her. He’s fought beside her. He’s steered her towards the nearest chamber after the battle when both of them were finally too exhausted to stand. He’s made enough of a fool out of himself. And he’d do it all again. 

But her unbroken reserve frustrates him beyond anything else and so he pushes past her without waiting for an invitation. 

The heat that hits his face the moment he steps into her room does nothing to sooth his strained temper. 

“I hate the fucking North,” he tells her, chin tilted up in defiance to be level with hers. His last restraint against what he’s about to do. But her features are soft in the golden light of the fire and the bruises on her face remind him of horrific things in the dead of the night. The smell of smog and rotten flesh.

He has not formulated an exact plan beyond the drinking. Beyond his anger and the frustration. The fingers of his remaining hand fly to the laces of his shirt on their own volition. “It’s bloody hot in here,” he offers dumbfoundedly accompanied by a small grin that serves as a last defense against the impending humiliation. There is no point in stalling any longer because she _has_ to know now. _She just has to-_

The relief that floods him when she finally _finally_ bats his hand away is unexpected. Her own exasperation with him at least familiar enough to be encouraging. 

Her fingers still around his collar when he tugs at the laces of her shirt. Brienne searches his face.

Jaime can hear the rush of his own blood drum loudly in his ears. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice trembles only slightly. 

“I’m taking your shirt off.”

The anger he felt only seconds ago has diffused entirely. There’s little for him to do now but to watch in awe as Brienne removes first his shirt and then her own. She’s always been braver than him. More resilient. Creamy white skin and frowning defiance. 

His eyes drop to the scars along her collar bone. Three long lines of torn flesh and bad decisions. Forever ingrained into her pristine skin. He’s seen them before. Briefly, after the battle when there was little room and little privacy. Decorum the least of their concerns. He knows there to be other bruises and scars on her body. Old ones and new ones. A life of fights and truces. Jaime wants to touch them all. He wants to run his fingers along them. Kiss her where others have branded her. Stake his claim on something he knows he cannot hold.

But Jaime has always been weak when it comes to love. 

“I’ve never slept with a knight before,” he tells her before he closes the distance.


End file.
